


Dulcinea

by hollycomb



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollycomb/pseuds/hollycomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cartman wants to seduce Butters, but he needs some hands on advice from Kenny first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dulcinea

“I've decided to seduce Butters.”  
  
Cartman says this to Kenny as they're walking away from the movie theater, Kenny still working on a box of Raisinets, savoring them. Cartman keeps swiping at the box and Kenny keeps holding it out of his reach.  
  
“Okay,” Kenny says. “What?”  
  
“Butters,” Cartman says, sharply, like Kenny asked who he's talking about. “He's basically my slave, right? So I'm like, why don't I just fuck him? I might as well.”  
  
“Are you in love with him?” Kenny asks, and Cartman hits him on the shoulder, kind of hard.  
  
“Fuck you!” he says. “I'm not – pssh! No! I'm just thinking, okay, Butters is small, my dick is big. It's going to feel good for at least one of us, and that'll be me.”  
  
“Hey, c'mon,” Kenny says. “I'm not going to sit back and let you hurt him.”  
  
“Duh, asshole,” Cartman says. “Why do you think I'm telling you this? I need tips.”  
  
“Tips.” Kenny gives the Raisinets box a shake, dislodging the last cluster at the bottom. “I see.”  
  
“Yeah, I bet you do.” Cartman glances around, making sure that there's no one in earshot. They're approaching the short cut through the woods that leads to Cartman's neighborhood. “I mean, everyone knows you fuck guys.”  
  
“Not only guys,” Kenny says.  
  
“Well, congratulations, ya fuckin' slut, but the relevant thing to this conversation is that you do fuck dudes, so tell me what to do.”  
  
“What to do,” Kenny says. His afternoon just got way more entertaining. He eats the last five Raisinets without bothering to suckle the chocolate off slowly. “Um, in terms of getting him in the sack, or—”  
  
“Kenny,” Cartman says. “We're talking about Butters. Okay? He's already in the sack. He's been licking my balls, you know, figuratively, since pre-school. That's not the issue.”  
  
“So what is the issue?”  
  
“Anal penetration,” Cartman says, and he hits Kenny again when he laughs. “Butthole mechanics,” Cartman says, jabbing his finger against his fat palm. “Lubricant – uh, brands? And stuff.”  
  
“Don't you have the internet?”  
  
“It's not the same!” Cartman says. “I mean, why should I try to slog through eight thousand bullshit porn sites when I have you right here? Try searching 'how to stretch out a butthole properly' and just see how educational the results are. Not very.”  
  
“Wow,” Kenny says. “I'm impressed that you actually care.”  
  
“Well, the fact is, you dick, that I want to do this on a regular basis, and if I suck at it Butters will be less likely to open his legs for me.”  
  
“I thought he was your slave?”  
  
“He is, fucker, but we have kind of a history with me inadvertently fucking up his butt, and he put his foot down that time, sort of, or tried to—”  
  
“Whoa, what?” Kenny stops walking.  
  
“It was – don't look at me like that! I may have gotten him in trouble, okay, but I actually didn't mean to that time, and anyway I thought I was dead, so excuse the fuck out of me if he ended up getting a probe up his ass when his parents thought he was nuts. I don't even know what they were trying to accomplish with that. It wasn't my idea! Regardless, Kenny, you piece of crap—”  
  
“You know, you could maybe not insult me between every other word if you seriously want my help.”  
  
“God,” Cartman says, and he closes his eyes. “I hate you so much, Kenny.”  
  
“Fuck you!”  
  
“Look!” Cartman says, grabbing his arm. “I'm sorry, just, this is kind of embarrassing, alright? So are you going to help me or not?”  
  
“Help you how?” Kenny asks. “I mean – lube brands? Just get KY or something. Use – ah, God, I can't believe I'm talking about you doing this to Butters – uh, your fingers, for like, the first few times. Don't try to do fingers and dick all in the same day. If he's a virgin. Which, I think he is.”  
  
“Unless you count the probe,” Cartman says, and he grabs the box of Raisinets, frowning when he sees that it's empty.  
  
“Well, I guess you'd know about anal probes,” Kenny says.  
  
“Why don't you just fucking show me?” Cartman asks.  
  
“Show you?”  
  
“Yeah.” He's turning red. “'Cause I – I need a demonstration.”  
  
Kenny stares at Cartman, waiting to be taunted for falling for this. Cartman is bright red across his cheeks, and his ears are starting to go, too.  
  
“Did you just ask me to fingerbang you?” Kenny asks.  
  
“Like it's really that big of a favor!” Cartman says. “I thought we were friends, Kenny.”  
  
“What the fuck is happening right now?” Kenny looks around, expecting to see Stan and Kyle hiding behind a bush or something, snickering into their hands.  
  
“The fact is,” Cartman says, loudly, “I think you'd be good at this. So teach me. God!”  
  
“Why do you think I'd be good at this? Because you think I'm a slut?”  
  
“Well, you fuckin' are one, so don't even – wait, wait!” Cartman grabs for him when he tries to walk away. “Sorry, Jesus, I'm sorry! You're just, uh. Liberated.”  
  
“I'm kind of stunned that you're suddenly comfortable with your gayness,” Kenny says, shaking Cartman's hand off. “We all thought you'd come out when you got caught banging a rent boy in a bathroom stall in your fifties or something.”  
  
“What's a rent boy?”  
  
“A prostitute,” Kenny says, and he frowns when he sees Cartman's light up as if he likes the idea. “No, c'mon,” Kenny says, taking Cartman's arm. “I'll do it.”  
  
They go to Cartman's house, because it's cleaner, Cartman says, which is true.  
  
“What about lube?” Cartman asks on the way there. He's breathing kind of hard, maybe just from walking. It's summer, pretty hot outside.  
  
“Your mom has some,” Kenny says. “I mean – I assume,” he says when Cartman shoots him a look of hatred. Kenny has not actually fucked Liane Cartman, but he's pretty sure he could. He'll be eighteen in March, and he's determined, objectively, that he's good looking. He'd probably be number four on the List now, just below Stan. Jason and Leroy didn't age well, and Bradley lives on some other planet now, presumably.  
  
Liane seems to be at work, which is good. Kenny is fully expecting Cartman to be loud during sex. Thinking this makes him feel queasy, and he pours himself some of Liane's gin before they go upstairs.  
  
“Hey,” Cartman says, and Kenny can't tell if he's insulted or just objecting to Kenny drinking from his mom's stash.  
  
“Look at what you're asking me to do,” Kenny says, and he throws back the drink. “And, um. You're pretty sweaty. Go take a shower, alright, and clean yourself, uh. Thoroughly. Or no deal.”  
  
Cartman does so without protest, which is as shocking as any of the other details of this situation. Kenny putters around Cartman's room while he showers. He finds Clyde Frog, ragged and stitched back together, hidden between Cartman's bed and the wall. For some reason this makes him want to fuck Cartman for real, just to see what it's like, how he would be different when he's vulnerable. He tucks Clyde Frog back into place and moves a pillow over him before sitting on the bed.  
  
When Cartman enters the bedroom he's wearing a cranberry-colored robe and carrying a half-empty tube of KY, the end neatly rolled up.  
  
“Told you,” Kenny says.  
  
“Don't talk about my mom,” Cartman says, muttering. His hair is towel-dried and messy, and he's still blushing, but it's more pink than red now. “Uh, so,” he says, standing there holding the lube. “What do I do?”  
  
“Um,” Kenny says. He kind of feels like a hooker, and is glad he had money to spare for his own movie ticket and box of Raisinets earlier. Not that Cartman would have offered, even if he was planning to ask for this afterward. “C'mere,” Kenny says, patting the bed.  
  
Cartman walks toward him, toying with the belt on the robe. He smells like soap, and still, somehow, like sweat. He sits down beside Kenny and stares at his shoulder.  
  
“So I'm Butters,” Cartman blurts when Kenny moves toward him, reaching for the lube. “And you're me.”  
  
“Got it,” Kenny says. “Do you, uh. Want me to – call you Butters?”  
  
“No, you fucking pervert!” Cartman says, throwing the lube at his chest. “Just – you need to keep in mind that I'm Butters in this situation. And you're me.”  
  
“I – okay,” Kenny says, not sure he understands what Cartman means. “Uh.” He taps the lube against his palm. “Are you going to get under the blankets or anything?”  
  
“Should I?” Cartman asks, finally meeting his eyes. “I mean – should Butters?”  
  
“Yeah,” Kenny says, because he really doesn't want to see Cartman naked. “That'll make him feel more comfortable. You know – Butters is pretty shy.”  
  
“Oh – right.” Cartman pulls on the robe belt. “Don't look,” he says.  
  
“Kay.” Kenny turns toward the wall, not sure that he can actually do this. He listens to the blankets rustling and the robe dropping to the floor.  
  
“Alright,” Cartman says, and Kenny turns. Cartman has the bed sheet tucked under his fleshy arms, his man tits pressed underneath it in a not completely unappealing way. Kenny wonders if he wants to suck on Cartman's nipples, and decides he doesn't. “You're going to leave your clothes on?” Cartman says when Kenny crawls toward him.  
  
“Well – yeah.”  
  
“Nuh – it's no fair, though! I don't want to be the only one who's naked.”  
  
Kenny sighs and toes off his shoes. He pulls his socks off and unbuttons his jeans, slides them down.  
  
“That's all I'm taking off,” he says, kicking the jeans away. Cartman shrugs.  
  
“Fine,” he says. “So – tell me. If I'm Butters, what should I – the real me – be doing?”  
  
“Kissing him, I think,” Kenny says. “But you don't want me—”  
  
“Fuck no!” Cartman says. “I'm not even doing that gay shit with Butters.”  
  
“You have to, Cartman. He'll think you don't like him.”  
  
“Who says I do?”  
  
“Okay, if this is all about screwing Butters and then treating him like crap, I'm done,” Kenny says. “That kid is fucked up enough already.”  
  
“God, whatever. I'll let him cuddle up to me after he comes, alright? Now come on and – show me.”  
  
Kenny sighs and gets under the sheet, sliding over until his knee is touching Cartman's thigh. Cartman is not exactly his type. He likes big, busty women, but when it comes to guys he usually goes for bony twinks. Craig Tucker is his go-to South Park lay, though he's not actually that good in bed and basically sucks as a person. He's got smooth, skinny thighs that feel good around Kenny's waist, and that's been enough to ensure repeat visits from Kenny's cock.  
  
“So you're kissing Butters,” Kenny says, because he's gathered that repeated mentions of Butters will make Cartman more comfortable. “And you're – you should touch him, you know, on his chest and stuff. And here.” Kenny tickled his fingers into the crook of Cartman's elbow. “A lot of people like that. Girls, mostly, but, you know. Butters is kind of a chick.”  
  
“Obviously,” Cartman says. He looks down, and Kenny does, too. Cartman is getting hard under the sheet.  
  
“You like that?” Kenny asks, muttering, still rubbing the crease of Cartman's arm. Cartman huffs.  
  
“Whatever,” he says. “Should I suck his dick?”  
  
“Yes,” Kenny says, because the thought of Cartman sucking on Butters and making him scream, Butters fisting Cartman's hair until Cartman has to pull off and bark at him for tugging on it – it's hot. Kenny is starting to get hard himself. “But you're out of your fucking mind if you think I'm sucking yours.”  
  
“Yeah, like I really expected that kind of generosity from you,” Cartman says.  
  
“I think I'm being pretty generous,” Kenny says. “So, um, yeah, suck his dick and make him come, that way he'll be more relaxed.” He gets a little harder at the thought of Butters being relaxed enough for a finger up his ass, trembling and breathless. Cartman's erection is growing under the sheet, a little wet spot forming over the tip. Kenny puts his hand there, rubbing his finger over the wet spot, and he smirks when Cartman whimpers. “When's the last time you even had a hand job?” Kenny asks.  
  
“Shut up,” Cartman says. “So – he's, whatever. Relaxed and stuff. So then I just – what?”  
  
“It's too goddamn hot under this sheet,” Kenny says. “Can I take it off?”  
  
“Fine, whatever.” Cartman flings it away, and Kenny looks him over. He's not as disgusting as he looks with clothes on; he's fat, sure, but his big thighs seem sort of strong, and his cock is actually kind of tasty-looking, shockingly. Kenny reaches for it, checking Cartman's face before he can make contact. Cartman is watching Kenny's hand, panting. He spreads his legs a little, and closes his eyes when Kenny grips him.  
  
“Nice dick,” Kenny says. Cartman snorts.  
  
“You're such a slut, Kenny.”  
  
“Hey, fuck you!” Kenny squeezes him, and Cartman whines, his thighs twitching. “I'm giving you a sincere compliment.”  
  
"Ah, sorry." Cartman peeks at him, eyelashes netted. "You can lick it if you want."  
  
"No," Kenny says, because he enjoys giving head, but only to the deserving. "But anyway, okay. Then you'll get down between his legs. Of course. Like this." He demonstrates, pushing Cartman's knees apart a little more widely as he kneels between them. The way Cartman is watching him, worried and double-chinned, makes Kenny feel sort of bad for him, though he got himself into this situation. He bends down to kiss Cartman's chubby knee. "Relax, Butters," he says.  
  
"Ey! I said – don't call me Butters!"  
  
"I was just joking. So, um." He gropes for the lube. "You still want to do this?"  
  
"I'm lying here with my fucking legs spread, what do you think?"  
  
"Have you ever – on yourself?"  
  
"What do you think?" Cartman asks, narrowing his eyes.  
  
"I think yes," Kenny says, and he brings two slick fingers down, making Cartman's breath stop. He imagines Cartman intercepting some vibrator Liane ordered, stealing it from its UPS box and trashing the evidence, hiding it somewhere in his room, more carefully hidden than his stuffed animal. "Okay," Kenny says, fully hard now, because for some reason the idea of Cartman pressing his blushing face into his pillow while he fucks himself with a big, sparkly dildo is kind of doing it for him. "So, you feel like, how I'm doing this?" He hasn't pushed a finger in yet; he's just feeling around, spreading the lube.  
  
"Uhh," Cartman says in answer. "Yeah."  
  
"This is how you do it," Kenny says. "You don't just go right in. And when you do, it should just be like this, okay, a little." Cartman holds his breath until Kenny is in up to the knuckle, going slow. He's really tight, burning hot. "Don't do that," Kenny says when Cartman lets out his breath, his whole body sort of fluttering around Kenny's finger. "I mean – Butters shouldn't do that. Hold his breath. It makes you – him – the person – more tense."  
  
"I didn't –" Cartman says. "I wasn't—"  
  
"Well, whatever, but Butters shouldn't."  
  
Cartman breathes normally as Kenny slides his finger all the way in, or maybe slower than normal, more deliberate. Kenny goes slower than normal, too. He watches Cartman's face, intent. Sometimes their eyes meet, and Cartman's sort of glimmer, not like he's got tears there but like he's feeling kind of watery.  
  
"You getting this?" Kenny asks when he's got two fingers in. "Can I stop?"  
  
"Nuh – huh?" Cartman is starting to squirm, pressing down against him, getting greedy. "No, you should – do the, the thing—"  
  
"The thing?"  
  
"The prostate, fucker!" Cartman says, scowling. "Are you stupid?"  
  
Kenny finds it quickly, to prove that he's not stupid, not about this. Not about anything, actually. His grades are okay. He does theater tech stuff for the drama club and wants to do that for real someday, for movies. He's going to move to California, where Kevin lives with his skeevy girlfriend and pretends to be in a gang but mostly just sells pot to people in his apartment building. Kenny is going to get the fuck out of South Park just like his brother did, and like his little sister will, too. He's going to go to school out there; he's looking into need-based scholarships. He qualifies for a lot of them. The stint in foster care helps, and being on the football team doesn't hurt. He's good at things, he's good at this – Cartman is screaming, grabbing for his dick, coming all over himself. Thirty-four seconds; Kenny counted.  
  
"Pull out slowly," Kenny says, demonstrating this while Cartman pants, his eyelashes trembling. "Then crawl up and hug him, kiss him. Well, unless he doesn't come, 'cause he already came in your mouth, and then you fuck him. But that's—"  
  
"Fuck me," Cartman says, nodding. "Please."  
  
"Cartman," Kenny says, sighing. He's hard, and Cartman is grabbing his leg, pulling it up toward his chest, showing Kenny his handiwork, that readiness.  
  
"I'm serious, please," Cartman says. "It's not – it wouldn't even be my first time. There's condoms in my drawer, there." He points.  
  
"Huh?" Kenny says, boggling. "Who?"  
  
"Don't worry about it! Do you want to fuck me or not?"  
  
Kenny does, which is surprising. He gropes for the condoms, disturbed by the information that Cartman has been fucked before. So why doesn't he have lube?  
  
"You like it that way?" Kenny says when Cartman turns over onto his hands and knees.  
  
"The fuck do you think?" Cartman says, and he arches, knees sliding apart on the twisted bed sheet.  
  
"Ready?" Kenny asks, though he obviously is, pressing back when Kenny feels him.  
  
"Do it," Cartman says. "Fucking – _yeah_."  
  
Kenny is pretty sure he's never fucked anyone who was this shameless about enjoying his cock, but Cartman has always been shameless. He snaps his hips back and groans, drooling on his pillow, digging his nails into his wooden headboard. He comes again, and then Kenny does.  
  
After getting up to throw the condom away, Kenny isn't really sure what he should do. He uses his foot to turn on a floor fan that's pointed toward the bed. Cartman is gasping for his breath, lying on his back, come drying on his stomach.  
  
"So you're ready to do that to Butters now, I guess," Kenny says. It's so hot in Cartman's room that he feels dizzy. He sits on the bed, in the path of the fan, and puts his hand in the center of Cartman's chest, between his tits. His heart is slamming.  
  
"Yeah," Cartman says, dazed.  
  
"Who's been fucking you?" Kenny asks. He feels worried about this, for some reason. Cartman opens his eyes a little.  
  
"Craigslist," he says.  
  
"Jesus, Eric." Kenny lies down next to him, on his back, their shoulders touching. "Don't do that."  
  
"I know. I mean – that's why. Butters."  
  
"Right. He'll take care of you." Kenny thinks about asking why Cartman needed this demonstration if he's had other partners, but he knows why. He wanted to try it with someone who would be careful with him, and he thought Kenny would be.  
  
"You okay?" Kenny asks when he's getting dressed. Cartman is dozing, back under the sheet, hugging his pillow. Kenny imagines Butters in place of the pillow, and he thinks Butters would probably hum softly and kiss Cartman's face, make him feel like a sated king.  
  
"M'fine," Cartman says. He seems mostly asleep, so Kenny kisses his cheek before leaving. Cartman grunts, eyes closed. His skin is hot and a little sticky.  
  
On his way out, Kenny runs into Liane and helps her unload some groceries. She says he looks flushed and insists that he drink some lemonade. She puts a little gin in it, winks.  
  
**  
  
Two days later, Kenny is shooting hoops alone at nine o'clock at night, avoiding going home, when Cartman wanders up. He's wearing a t-shirt with a brontosaurus on it that Kenny has never seen before. It's some kind of hipster thing, and it looks like shit on him, too small.  
  
"Where have you been?" Cartman asks, like was waiting somewhere and Kenny had forgot to pick him up.  
  
"Nowhere," Kenny says. "Working. Why?"  
  
"No – I don't know." Cartman scowls. "What are you even doing?"  
  
"Algebra," Kenny says. He throws the basketball at Cartman, and he catches it against his chest. "Want to play or something?"  
  
"No." Cartman tries to spin the ball on his finger, fails. "This thing needs air."  
  
"I found it in the bushes."  
  
They stare at each other for a minute, Cartman tossing the ball from hand to hand.  
  
"How's Butters?" Kenny asks, though he feels like it's a mean thing to say.  
  
"Butters is like a sugar cookie."  
  
"So," Kenny says, trying not to laugh, "Delicious? Sweet?"  
  
"Uh-huh." Cartman throws the ball at him, hard. "The thing is, though, like, sometimes you want that cookie, or you want like three of those cookies in a row until the cookie is asleep and your window's all fogged up, but then you want, maybe, like, the next day, a big, crab-stuffed steak with blue cheese melted all over it. Like those ones they have at Longhorn."  
  
"Are you asking me to buy you a steak or fuck you in the ass?"  
  
"The ass fucking," Cartman says, and he glances around. "I mean, Jesus, it's not like you can afford a steak dinner. So let's go to my house. I mean, if you're not too busy playing basketball by yourself like a gaywad."  
  
"You can't call people gaywads after you ask them to fuck your ass," Kenny says. "And you probably shouldn't make derogatory comments about their financial situation like that, either." He sort of knew this would happen, but he didn't expect to be happy about it.  
  
"Don't tell me what I can do," Cartman says, already backing away, expecting him to follow. "It's not that kind of thing."  
  
Kenny isn't sure what kind of thing it is, but that's okay. He's been bored; Stan and Kyle started fucking back around Valentine's Day, and that's pretty much all they do anymore. Before they figured their shit out Stan was one of the guys Kenny fucked, though he's not twinky. They would room together on football away trips, and Stan was needy, lonely, really horny because Kyle was teasing the fuck out of him. It was good that Stan and Kyle got together when they did, because Kenny was starting to feel things for Stan that weren't about convenience. He looks very sweet when he sleeps, for example.  
  
The sex is better the second time, Cartman bent over the side of the bed, letting Kenny stuff fingers in his mouth to keep him quiet because Liane is watching Extreme Couponing downstairs. Afterward they slump onto the floor together like they've been shot, and the dust from under Cartman's bed makes Kenny sneeze.  
  
"God bless you," Cartman says, and Kenny laughs hard. He feels bad when Cartman doesn't understand why that was funny.  
  
**  
  
It becomes a regular thing, and the summer is the hottest one on record during Kenny's lifetime – during his history, anyway, since lifetime is a tricky concept for him. He's constantly coated in a film of sweat, either from fucking Cartman or just from existing. Sometimes Cartman comes to the Dairy Queen with Butters when Kenny is working. Cartman gets a hot fudge sundae that is fucking ludicrious for the weather they're having and Butters gets Mr. Misties.  
  
"They don't call them Mr. Misties anymore in Denver," Kenny says when Cartman and Butters are loitering near the ordering window one afternoon. "My manager told me. They changed the name to Arctic Rush in most places."  
  
"Gosh!" Butters says.  
  
"That's stupid," Cartman says, and Kenny almost takes it personally, like Cartman is saying that it's stupid that he should bring such a thing to their attention, like Cartman's opinion about anything means anything to him.  
  
So the next time he fucks Cartman he tries slapping his ass really hard while his dick's in there. Cartman goes nuts for it, moans his name. The next time Kenny spanks him Cartman calls him 'Daddy,' clenching really hard when he hears himself say it, and Kenny comes like an avalanche, but afterward he makes Cartman promise not to do that again. Cartman mumbles and pretends not to know what Kenny is talking about.  
  
"Does Butters know that I fuck you?" Kenny asks when they're standing in the freezer at Dairy Queen together one night, toward the end of Kenny's shift. It's the only place in town that doesn't feel like a stolid 100 degrees.  
  
"Butters doesn't know shit," Cartman says. "And you'd better not tell him."  
  
"It's my right to tell him if I want to," Kenny says, though he doesn't plan to. "Does he – just, Butters is a nice little guy. I don't want to be doing this if he's saying he loves you and kissing your fingers or something."  
  
"My fingers?" Cartman frowns.  
  
"I – never mind."  
  
"He doesn't say that, anyway," Cartman says, and he slips an ice cream sandwich into his pocket.  
  
The next time they're together, a few days later, Kenny fucks Cartman sideways in the bed, slow, and they're both soaked in sweat when they're done. Kenny finds Cartman's hand and kisses the pads of his fingers, one at a time, from over his shoulder.  
  
"Like that," he says, softly. "Is what I meant."  
  
"Oh," Cartman says. He slides free and rolls onto his stomach, hiding his face. "Get me some water," he says.  
  
Kenny makes the mistake of walking downstairs naked, thinking Liane will be at work for another couple of hours. He's lost track of the time. She comes through the door as he's walking back toward the stairs with two cold bottles of water from the fridge, holding one against his forehead.  
  
"Oh!" She claps both hands over her mouth. "My goodness – Kenneth."  
  
His name isn't even Kenneth. It's 'Ken,' on his birth certificate, like the doll. He holds both water bottles over his cock.  
  
"Fuck, shit," he says. "Sorry!"  
  
"That's – I'm flattered," she says, laughing nervously and fluffing her hair. "But—"  
  
"No, um, I'm upstairs – I mean, with Cartman. Eric."  
  
"Oh – ah?"  
  
"I mean, not – we're not dating. Just."  
  
"You can go on up, honey," Liane says, and she looks like she feels sorry for him. Jogging upstairs, aware that she's ogling his ass, Kenny feels embarrassed that she caught him fucking her son, like she expected more from him or something.  
  
"Well, your mom knows," he announces as he walks back through the bedroom door, kicking it shut behind him. Cartman is wearing his boxer shorts, hanging halfway off the bed in pathetic exhaustion.  
  
"Knows what?" Cartman asks.  
  
"Uh, take a guess. She just saw me downstairs." Kenny sits on the bed and passes Cartman a water bottle before cracking the other one open for himself. He gulps half of it down before looking at Cartman.  
  
"She doesn't really care what I do," Cartman says, putting the water bottle against his cheek.  
  
"That's not true," Kenny says, though maybe it is. It's true of his parents. They love him, but they've got their own problems.  
  
"I said not to talk to me about my mom," Cartman says. He sits up and drinks some water. "Get out, anyway," he says, which is new.  
  
Downstairs, Liane is on the phone with someone, speaking quickly and in a hushed tone. She sounds excited, like a school girl talking to her best friend after curfew.  
  
  
**  
  
At a pizza parlor with Stan and Kyle, Kenny waits until Kyle has taken a big drink from his sweating glass of Dr. Pepper and says:  
  
“So I've been fucking Cartman.”  
  
Kyle doesn't reward him with a spit take. He blinks, swallows, and turns to Stan, who is staring at Kenny, eyebrows raised.  
  
“Shut up,” Kyle says. “You have not.”  
  
“Have so,” Kenny says. “Don't tell him I told you.”  
  
“Wait,” Stan says. “Wait.”  
  
“Kenny!” Kyle says. He slams his fist against the table. “Why would you – Jesus Christ! How low are you? He only wants you because you're like, Aryan.”  
  
“I am?” Kenny looks down at his hands.  
  
“Blond,” Kyle says, glowering now. “Blue-eyed. And furthermore, what the fuck?”  
  
"Oh," Kenny says. That makes sense, and Butters has similar coloring. "Ew."  
  
"Yeah, ew," Kyle says. "I can't fucking believe you. I hope you've been wearing condoms."  
  
"Wait," Stan says. "Hang on. You're serious?"  
  
"Stan!" Kyle glares at him. "Why would he lie about this?"  
  
"I told him," Stan says to Kenny. "About how, before."  
  
"Huh?" Kenny regrets saying anything; he knew he would.  
  
"He told me about your football team adventures," Kyle says. He grabs a greasy napkin from the table and crumples it into his fist. "Which is fine."  
  
"Kyle," Stan says, looking like he'll cry.  
  
"I said it's fine!" Kyle throws the napkin at Kenny and it bounces off his chest, drops into his lap. "Don't let Cartman talk you into things. He only makes it seem like it's your idea."  
  
"Wait, did you fuck him?" Kenny says, confused. Stan makes a sound like someone just bit one of his fingers off. Kyle's mouth falls open.  
  
"How fucking dare you," Kyle says. "No, Kenny, I didn't let the most reprehensible, unattractive, morally repulsive person I've ever met put his dick in my ass."  
  
"I meant the other way around," Kenny says. "But never mind."  
  
"Just knock it off," Kyle says. "You know it's wrong. And anyway, I thought he was with Butters now?"  
  
"He is," Kenny says, and he frowns. "Hey, though. Why are we all gay? I mean, I'm bi, and I think Stan is, Cartman might be, but—"  
  
"Oh, God." Kyle rolls his eyes. "I can _not_ have this conversation again. And, shit, speak of the devil."  
  
"I'm not bi," Stan says, quietly, as Cartman and Butters make their way over to the table.  
  
"Honey," Kyle says, giving him a weary stare. "I know." He rubs Stan's back. Stan scoots closer to Kyle, and by the way his arm moves Kenny judges that he's either grabbed Kyle's thigh or lovingly cupped his crotch under the table.  
  
"It's just so fucking hot," Stan says, like that explains everything.  
  
"Hey, fags," Cartman says, naturally. He sits next to Kenny, shoving him over toward the wall as he scoots in, Butter perching on the end of the booth. They both look happy, and Cartman smells faintly of KY. Kenny actually wishes he cared more. He picks up one of Stan's leftover crusts and eats it, though the crust here sucks.  
  
"What have you two been up to?" Kyle asks, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.  
  
"Nothing!" Butters says.  
  
"Played some of the new Halo," Cartman says. "It's okay. Kinda sucks."  
  
"There's so much shooting," Butters says. "It gives me a headache."  
  
"I don't have the patience for those games anymore," Kyle says.  
  
"We know," Cartman says. "You only have the patience for Stan's dick nowadays."  
  
"Everybody here knows you're gay," Kyle says, hissing. "So don't even, you shit."  
  
"What does liking dick have to do with it?" Cartman asks. "There's liking dick, and then there's living your life attached to someone else's, Kyle."  
  
"Cartman, I'll kick your ass," Stan says, sounding bored.  
  
"I've heard you like it a lot," Kyle says. "Like, indiscriminately."  
  
"Oh, Jesus," Butters says, grabbing his cheeks.  
  
"You told him about Craigslist?" Cartman says, enraged, whirling on Kenny.  
  
"No!" Kenny says.  
  
"Craigslist?" Stan says.  
  
"Fuck," Kyle says. "Butters, don't let him touch you without a condom."  
  
"I'm gonna fucking kill you, Kenny!" Cartman says, pressing him against the wall.  
  
"What'd I do?"  
  
"Stop, Cartman!" Stan says. "What the hell is going on?"  
  
"I don't know!" Butters says. "Eric, please." He tugs on Cartman's shoulder. "Don't hurt Kenny."  
  
"We're leaving," Cartman says, still glaring at Kenny. "I thought – you guys are so fucking immature."  
  
"Oh, get out of here," Kyle says. "Nobody invited you, anyway."  
  
Cartman and Butters leave, and Kyle orders a cannoli. Kenny's heart is beating hard, and he doesn't want it to be. He wants everything South Park-related to be fucking over already, but he's got to get through another whole year here.  
  
"Well," Kyle says, licking ricotta from the corner of his lips. He doesn't quite get it all. "I hope you can see my point now."  
  
Stan leans over to suck the remaining ricotta off of Kyle's face. Kenny knew that would happen.  
  
**  
  
Kenny doesn't fuck Cartman for the rest of the summer. Football camp starts up, and it feels different now, without the promise of road trip sex with Stan during the season. He thinks about quitting the team, but needs the extracurricular points for his college applications. He's been researching schools since sophomore year, but the thought of actually organizing his efforts is exhausting.  
  
Senior year starts and everything feels the same as it always has, like waking up in a new body. Bebe spent most of her summer in Florida with her dad, who moved out there when her parents got divorced. She comes back looking tan and sophisticated; he lives near Miami. Kenny doesn't have to try very hard, because they're buddies and they've fucked before. Bebe is like him, ready to get out of here.  
  
"I'm moving to California," he says when they're lying together in the backseat of her car, angled so that they can see some stars through the back window. It's a kind of cramped spooning, and it's nice, though still unseasonably hot. Her warmth against his isn't exactly a burden.  
  
"That'll be nice," she says, sounding sleepy, and he gets the feeling she's not really listening to him. That he's just a dick to ride. He's gotten sensitive about this.  
  
"I fucked Cartman this summer," he says. "Eric Cartman, not Liane. A bunch of times."  
  
She laughs, carefree and bouncy, her eyes sliding shut. "What the hell are you talking about?" she asks.  
  
"I don't know," Kenny says, because he still hasn't figured it out. "You should have seen Kyle when I tried that one on him. I thought he was going to choke me."  
  
"Is Cartman still dating Butters?" she asks.  
  
"I think so," Kenny says. Yes; they sit together at lunch. Cartman eats Butters' tater tots right off his tray, but maybe he did that before they were dating. Kenny saw Cartman opening Butters' chocolate milk carton for him two days before. He did it carefully, the way you do when you don't want the soggy paper part to tear.  
  
"Well, good for them," Bebe says. "And Stan and Kyle. Kenny, hon. All your friends turned out gay."  
  
"It's true."  
  
"What'd you do to them?" She laughs again, seems to be falling asleep.  
  
"Ha," he says.  
  
Kenny barely has to interact with Cartman until suddenly he's auditioning for the spring production of Streetcar. He somehow gets the part of Stanley, and Butters plays Blanche in drag. Butters is sort of obsessed with Vivien Leigh. His parents actually thought it was a good sign, heterosexuality-wise, when he put up a poster of her in his room.  
  
Cartman is a perfect Stanley, eerily so, and Kenny tries to take this as more evidence that it's a relief to not even be friends with him anymore. He's missing something, though. Bebe makes vague references to people she met in Miami who were far superior to what's available in South Park, and Kenny isn't sure she's right about that. Furthermore, he's insulted. Stan and Kyle are so wrapped up in each other that Kenny has started crashing their dates just to spend time with them.  
  
There's this one day after school, a week before opening night, late, when Cartman is the only one on stage and Kenny is the only one in the booth. He's still messing with the lights for the scene Cartman is running; he's a perfectionist. Cartman seems to be one, too. He snaps at everybody if they don't do scenes to his liking, including Butters. There are people backstage and people in the audience, but it's dark and Kenny can only see Cartman. He's wearing his Stanley shirt, tight pants. He's lost a little weight, not much.  
  
Cartman is muttering his lines, but the theater is quiet and Kenny can hear it.  
  
"I once went out with a doll who said, 'I'm the glamorous type,'" Cartman says. He's holding the script, reading from it. "'I'm the glamorous type.' I said, 'So what?'"  
  
"And what did she say then?" Kenny mumbles, adjusting the light. That's Butters' line, but he's not around.  
  
"She didn't say nothing," Cartman says. "That shut her up like a clam."  
  
"Did it end the romance?" Kenny says, to himself. It's one of his favorite lines, because it's sarcastic, but Stanley is too stupid to pick up on that. Butters doesn't deliver the line right, he feels.  
  
"It ended the conversation," Cartman says. He looks up at the booth. "That was all. Some men are took in by this Hollywood glamor stuff and some aren't."  
  
Kenny told Cartman about his plan to move out to L.A. and live with Kevin, once, when they were lying together after some not especially great sex, just too hot to think straight, watching the dust float past the window. Cartman said that sounded pretty cool.  
  
Kenny doesn't remember Butters' next line, but then there's something like, 'I can't imagine any witch of a woman casting a spell over you.'  
  
Cartman is supposed to say, 'that's right,' but he's just looking at the script, pacing. Kenny softens the light and Cartman looks up. He's sweating; Kenny can see the shine of it on his temple.  
  
Opening night goes well. Kenny always gets a kind of thrill out of it, and he feels high after the show. He wants to get high for real, and there's a cast party at Clyde's house. He plays Mitch.  
  
Craig is at the party, drunk, and Kenny has his eye on him. Bebe is there, too, to support Wendy, who was the director. Everybody is there, pretty much, except Stan and Kyle, who are giggling together under blankets somewhere.  
  
Cartman doesn't seem to be a big drinker, which is surprising. He seems to get off more on admiration, and he gets a lot of deserved praise for his performance.  
  
"Maybe I'll move out to L.A. after I graduate," he says, and Kenny snorts, hoping Cartman won't hear him. They're all gathered in the kitchen, around the booze and snacks. Cartman is staring at him when he chances a look.  
  
"This town's not big enough for the both of us," Kenny says when Cartman corners him on the back porch. Kenny is smoking weed, really nasty stuff that Craig gave him. He might fuck Craig later, though he doesn't really want to. Bebe seems annoyed with him, and he doesn't care much. Cartman takes the joint from his fingers.  
  
"Butters looks good in that Blanche outfit, doesn't he?" Cartman says. He's just looking at the joint, not smoking it.  
  
"Yeah," Kenny says. "Butters has always been a beautiful lady. Looked like one, or – I don't know, whatever. I'm stoned."  
  
"He's not a good actor, though," Cartman says. "He tries too hard."  
  
"Mhmm. Maybe. You were good, though."  
  
"Were?" Cartman reaches up and hooks his finger over Kenny's bottom lip, pulls it down and reinserts the joint. Kenny is kind of fucked up, reeling, and maybe that's why he feels like that was hot.  
  
"I'm talking about Stanley," Kenny says.  
  
"Ha!" Cartman looks up at the sky. "I know that."  
  
"Stanley – Kowalski. Wait, what?"  
  
"Where are your makeshift parents?" Cartman asks.  
  
"Huh? My parents? I don't know, they're probably more fucked up than I am right now." They've never come to Kenny's shows, because they're like, Kenny, it's not like you're on stage or anything.  
  
"No, not those parents. Your other parents. The ones who tell you what to think. Stan and Kyle."  
  
"Uh? I don't know, fucking? They're not my parents."  
  
"Well," Cartman says, and then he seems to forget what he was going to say, his face falling. "You pissed me off, you poor piece of shit, but I should thank you, I guess." He glances back over his shoulder. Everyone else is still inside.  
  
"Thank me?"  
  
"For telling me to get with Butters."  
  
"Okay." Kenny pinches his eyes shut. "I don't – I don't even know what's going on right now, what—"  
  
"You told me to get with Butters," Cartman says, frowning. He smells like spearmint gum and baby powder. "Remember?"  
  
"No? I remember you announcing that you'd decided to seduce him, but I was just—"  
  
"No, you – this." Cartman picks up Kenny's hand and kisses his fingertips. He does it slowly, starting with Kenny's thumb and ending with his pinkie. "That," he says. "You told me – that."  
  
"Oh." Kenny understands, and his stomach hurts. "Good – yeah. You're welcome."  
  
Kenny doesn't fuck Craig, or Bebe, doesn't go to Stan's window or Kyle's, knowing they'd be naked and too tired to kick him out, that they'd let him sleep on the floor and treat him to Denny's in the morning. He goes home, stoned, and watches the recording of the night's performance that he stole – borrowed – from the booth.  
  
When he graduates, his parents are really proud of him. Kevin left town, but he didn't actually finish high school. His dad tells him he can go anywhere in town for dinner, no matter how expensive.  
  
They go to Outback, and Kenny gets the crab-stuffed steak with blue cheese. It's okay when dipped in mashed potatoes, a little chewy. Later he gets drunk with his dad, who becomes emotional at one point, teary-eyed.  
  
"You're not getting stuck here," his dad says, squeezing his arm. It's true; Kenny got a partial scholarship to UCLA, and he's saved enough to cover the rest of his expenses as long as he lives in that shithole apartment with Kevin. "Not getting stuck anyplace," his dad says, sniffling. "Not you."  
  
"No, sir," Kenny says, but it's not totally true. He's died in this town about a thousand times, and even without that particular facet of his personality, parts of him would be stuck here. They're the parts that loved Stan's bleeding heart causes and the way he committed to the fetal position like no one else Kenny has ever spent the night with, and how Kyle can't seem to eat anything without needing someone to swipe or kiss the residue from his lips, and that place between the bed and the wall where Cartman keeps Clyde Frog. Kenny wonders if Cartman will bring him to college. He hopes so. Butters and Cartman are going to college together, to CSU. Butters probably knows about Clyde Frog; he'll make sure to bring him along.


End file.
